


Leaving Ireland

by irismustang



Category: Burn Notice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1642598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irismustang/pseuds/irismustang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael leaves Ireland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving Ireland

**Author's Note:**

> For Lexie: When we got talking, I started wanting to write for you. It's not much and I know it could be slightly wrong because of how Sam was added, but oh well?
> 
> Written for Lexie

 

 

Dinner couldn't have gone better. Michael had spent hours cooking while Fiona had been gone. She had tried to be secretive, keep him from knowing what she had been called out to do, but he knew. 

You couldn't hide things from a spy. Especially a spy you slept with nearly every night. 

She had returned to candlelight and wine, and after dinner, they had carried the candles to the bedroom. They left them burning as clothes came off and they slid between the sheets. 

When they were sweaty, breathless, and aching in all the best ways, Fiona had curled against him, her head on his chest and his fingers had gone into her hair, combing through the strands. When she had finally drifted off to sleep, he'd waited, waited some more, and then moved carefully. 

You never knew how sneaky you could really be until you could slip out of bed, out from beneath your partner, without them so much as stirring. 

He dressed silently and leaned over the bed, uncertain. Did he kiss her and chance her waking? No, too risky. No note, bad tradecraft. No goodbye, it would be too painful for them both. He had already packed, and he took his bag, slipping away in the night.

His cover was blown, they were in danger. More importantly, she was in danger. He had no choice. 

When he was free, waiting at the airport for a flight out of Dublin, he made a call. "Sam? It's me."

"Mike!" The agent's overly-cheerful voice came echoing back over the line. "How's Ireland? Did you have a pint for me?"

"I'm heading back, Sam."

"Ah, yeah, the cover. Right."

"Right," Michael said flatly. 

"I'll see you when you get in, we'll have a drink."

"We'll do that." 

"You sound weird. You okay?"

"Peachy. Goodbye, Sam." Michael ended the call, and then shut off his cell phone. 

He wanted to be back there, with Fiona. He couldn't. He shouldn't have fallen in love in the first place. She made him crazy, made him miserable, but he loved her. 

Maybe more than he ever had loved someone, or ever would again. He would go on, and she would move on. She was beautiful, resourceful, and strong. She would forget him.

That, or she would hunt him down and bitch slap him with an assault rifle. 

With Fiona, he could never be too sure. 

 


End file.
